


Pocket Money

by Rubynye



Category: Lord of the Rings - Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Sexual Harassment, The Shire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-14
Updated: 2010-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-06 07:06:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam would do anything for Frodo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing: Physically speaking, Lotho/Sam. Emotionally speaking....  
> Summary: Sam would do anything for Frodo.   
> Warning: coerced consent, emotional cruelty, angst, Sackville-Bagginses
> 
> I wrote a really long note, then a shorter note, then a shorter note still. I think I'll just say this: This is not in my regular continuity, and may be an AU; I'm not sure. I'm not using the 7/11 rule of hobbit ages here. And please don't hurt me.

Title: Pocket Money  
Section: One of Two.

 

As he strolled smiling down the path to Bagshot Row, cane swinging in his hand, Lotho thought over the plans he was about to set in motion to gain himself something he wanted. After all, he knew that anything he desired he deserved to have. Any toy, any sweet, any piece of clothing or land, any lass or lad. "No" was not a word said to Lotho Sackville-Baggins.

What Lotho wanted this fine autumn day knelt in the dirt weeding his father's garden and laughing up at his sister. The elder Gamgee lads were stolid chunks of hobbit, but the lasses were fair peasant creatures; so was the youngest lad, and as a boy he'd be easier to get alone. If Lotho remembered correctly, he was that Brandybuck's favorite as well, which made him all the more desirable. But how to approach him without his fleeing to Bilbo like a frightened chick to the fat mother hen? After all, the old rogue did have to be kept sweet, till he rid himself of the Brandybuck whelp and willed the Baggins headship and Bag End to Lotho's father as he ought.

The Gamgees caught sight of Lotho and promptly did obeisance, falling silent; the boy stood as he knuckled his forehead, leaving a smudge of soil that somehow was an ornament. Lotho nodded to them as he strolled over, standing near enough the lass to feel her breathing hasten. "Beautiful day, is it not?" he asked, smiling as they gaped at him like fish on a riverbank.

They were saved from finding a reply by a high call from above. "Lotho!" cried Frodo, running down the path with ill-bred haste. "You left this," said the Brandybuck, voice and jaw and arms rigid as he thrust forward Lotho's cloak.

From the corner of his eye Lotho watched two pairs of brown eyes go round; Frodo, not yet recovered from high words they'd exchanged earlier, was bristling like a cat. It was glorious. Lotho inclined his head graciously as he replied, "Please thank Bilbo for me." Frodo clenched white-knuckled fists at his sides and nodded once, but as he turned to go Lotho added, "Such a lovely day puts me more in mind of gardens than cloaks, don't you think? And the Bag End gardens are quite the envy of all Hobbiton. Who did you say your gardener is again?"

"Hamfast Gamgee," the Brandybuck said, slowly and warily. "May and Samwise's father."

"Indeed!" Lotho was enjoying himself even more than he deserved, really, with Frodo obviously wondering what he was about and the Gamgees openly staring at him. "Then young Samwise here must know all his father's tricks and trade. How fortunate that you caught me before I left! He's just the hobbit my mother wanted me to ask after, and here I nearly forgot."

Frodo's jaw actually dropped, perhaps an inch, before it firmed from shock to anger. Lotho bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing aloud. "What do you want with Sam?" Frodo snapped.

"Mother thinks old Pindy could use a bit of a hand. Perhaps one or two days a week? There'd be extra pay in it, for our young Samwise here." Lotho turned his head slightly to smile at the hobbit under discussion, whose eyes, brown as the dirt on his fingers, looked almost frightened. Did he suspect? Did Frodo? No matter, as neither of them could prove it well enough to say a thing.

"I'm certain Sam has enough work already," Frodo objected, and Lotho gritted his teeth with as much anticipation as frustration as he composed his reply. But luck was with Lotho that day; who should come round the bend that moment but Samwise's father himself, half-bent beneath the tools on his shoulder? Lotho took a step back from the lass and smiled generously at the old Gamgee; Frodo could do nothing but shove his fists in his pockets and glower as Lotho laid out his offer, pleased to see the gardener's eye brighten at the mention of extra pay. "Well, Samwise," he said, turning to his son, "next Monday then?"

It wasn't really a question. "Yes, Dad," said Samwise, wide eyes downcast. Lotho's squeezed his cane in private triumph.

"Perhaps Halfred might also be of use," suggested Frodo, and when Lotho glanced over Frodo's eyes were narrowed, their glare directed at him. "Can you spare both lads once a week, Master Gamgee?"

The old Gamgee hemmed and hawed while Frodo stared defiantly at Lotho and Lotho smiled sweetly back; before Samwise's father had even thought to decide, Lotho said, "what a splendid idea!" and grinned ear to ear as Frodo's challenge faded to confusion. "I'd be glad of both lads' help, and I'd be glad to keep them in pocket money."

That settled it, and Lotho shook the gnarled hand on it. He could handle a chaperone, and keep him in pocket money indeed.

*|^|*

Pindy was fine, of course, and Mondays were his half-day; Lotho's parents were out visiting with friends, so their smial was at his disposal. When Samwise and his elder brother arrived, Lotho watched Pindy set them an odd task or two; when they were done and Pindy gone, Lotho gave the elder Gamgee a coin, directions to the nearest low-class watering-trough, and the afternoon off. To Samwise, he gave instructions to wash up and to join him in the kitchen, and a mug of tea when he did.

There Lotho just sat, and regarded his new toy for a few moments, tracing smooth curves of cheek and shoulder with his eyes while the lad turned the mug in hands that were already big and gazed back nervously at him. Anticipation, always a better sweetener than honey. Finally, when he was certain his voice wouldn't shake, he leaned back in his chair. "Samwise, do you know why I asked you here today?"

"No, sir, I mean, you hired us to work, but there's hardly work t'be done." Samwise blushed an appetizing red and looked down into his mug.

"Oh, but there is work to be done. Work only you can do." Lotho leaned forward slowly. "Frodo is your friend, is he not?"

"He's my Master with Mr. Bilbo, sir," Samwise replied dutifully; Lotho felt his grin tilt with amusement. "But you are fond of him?" he asked, and Samwise nodded eagerly. "Well, I need for you to help him."

"Help him, Mr. Sackville-Baggins, sir? Me?"

"Call me Mr. Lotho." Lotho's hand slid across the table, inch by inch. "Frodo is in a precarious position, Sam." That was his nickname, wasn't it? It seemed so; the boy nodded, and volunteered, "Mr. Frodo's been right cross lately, out of sorts and moody. When me brother Ham was like that, me Mam said that it happens to tweens sometimes, they come through it again soon enough."

"Ah, but will Frodo still have a home when he does recover? Bilbo's rather fed up with our dear Frodo's sulkiness." Lotho only wished that were true; they went at it like hammer and tongs sometimes, and had had a delightful row during Lotho's last visit, but then Bilbo enjoyed nothing so much sometimes as a good shouting match. He doubtless thought it showed spirit.

This comely peasant lad wouldn't know spirit, and thank goodness for that. His eyes grew round again, and Lotho restrained himself from surging forward and pouncing to lick a line from that smooth brow, past the round eye, over the plump cheek. "Bilbo is on the verge of sending him back to Brandy Hall," Lotho said, fighting hard to keep a serious face over his delight as Sam regarded him with horror. "So, you see, he needs our help."

Sam nodded fit to make his head fly off. "Anything, Mr. Lotho, sir, anything I might do for him!"

"Good boy." Lotho slipped his fingertips over Sam's strong wrist, slid his thumb beneath the appetizing pulse. "I'll talk to Bilbo, of course; I'll cheer him up, keep him sweet. But I can only do that if someone keeps _me_ sweet, Samwise."

"Sir---!" Not so dull, this one; he blinked, understood, jerked back even as Lotho's hand clenched round his wrist. "Don't you want your Master Frodo to stay at Bag End?" Lotho said softly, tugging just a little; after a stubborn moment, Sam's mouth softened, his whole face softened, his arm gave to Lotho's pull. "Come here," Lotho said, as kindly as he might, though his own blood was roaring in his ears and below his waistband; even peasants have a little pride, after all.

Sam obeyed. Eyes narrowed, jaw trembling, he came round the side of the table, and at Lotho's tug he obediently knelt. Not so dull, and not so innocent, for all that wide-eyed look. "I think you know how to keep me sweet, Samwise," Lotho said, unbuttoning with one hand. Sam closed his eyes, and his trembling shook the wrist in Lotho's grasp, but he nodded. "Have you done this before?" Sam nodded again, tender lips pressed together, and didn't volunteer who with besides. What a treasure the lad was; no wonder old Bilbo and that Brandybuck so valued him.

"Good," Lotho said, winding his other hand in soft curls, pressing down. "Good lad."

*|^|*

Lotho was not unkind, of course. Afterwards he gave Sam afternoon tea, and two pennies for his own pocket money, as promised. Halfred came back cheerful with ale, and obviously didn't notice his brother's quiet mood. Lotho watched them depart, and wondered if he'd hear from an angry Frodo or Bilbo, and how long it'd be before he might bugger the lad.

He rather doubted the former. "This is our secret, our deal," he'd said, hand still in Sam's hair, looking down into the boy's eyes. "After all, who else needs to know of it? Bilbo? Your father?" Sam had gone pale beneath his golden tan, shaking his head vigorously, and Lotho had smiled and ruffled his hair, murmuring, "good boy."

For the latter.... as yet the lad shook like a leaf in high winds whenever Lotho touched him. It might take a few weeks to cure that, but meanwhile Lotho might lie abed of nights, remembering soft lips and sturdy shoulders and downcast wide eyes, and grin with anticipation.

Sam, meanwhile, lay awake in bed, watching his brother add coins to a rag-wrapped bundle which he kept beneath the loose floorboard. A day's pay, coin to drink up, and an extra pair of pennies for each of them, all for---- Sam's mind flinched away from the thought, pushing away memories of a smooth floor beneath his knees, a smooth hand clenched tight his hair.

His body flinched, too, and Halfred looked up as he climbed into his bed. "You well, Sam?" Sam nodded, and Halfred yawned. "That Mr. Lotho's right generous," he said contentedly. Swallowing bile, Sam clutched his quilt and said nothing. "What'd ye do while I was off at the _Sheaf_?"

"Sums," Sam said woodenly, reciting the lie he'd been given. "He taught me sums."

"Gentlefolk do take a shine to you, Sam," said Halfred with sleepy wonder. Sam thought hard on not retching. "Well, some hobbits have the luck. Sleep well, lad."

"Sleep well, Hal," Sam muttered, curling up round himself. _Gentlefolk do take a shine to you._ His brother's words echoing in his ears, Sam bit his lip till the taste of blood drowned out fouler memories. Gentlefolk... such as Mr. Frodo, like Mr. Bilbo. If Mr. Lotho would help them be friends till Mr. Frodo's tween moodies blew over, whatever he asked of Sam would be worth it, Sam reminded himself, even as he curled up tighter, sucking on his bitten lip.

*|^|*

The next morning was bright, and the day after that and after that. Sam kept himself too busy to think, and nearly forgot, till he stepped by the kitchen window of a morning and heard Mr. Frodo's sleepy petulance, Mr. Bilbo's answering bark. He remembered, then, and his stomach rolled within him as if it'd empty up his first breakfast; gasping, Sam leaned his brow on the cool window-glass and desperately thought, _Mr. Frodo, please come through this soon_.

Then it was Monday again.

Lotho settled back in his desk chair with a sated sigh, tingling all over. He mopped his sweaty brow with his sleeve; unfortunately, when he lowered his arm he saw a smudge of blood on it, and swore, grabbing at breeches that lay pooled round his knees.

A handkerchief was pressed into his hand, and as he pressed it to the burst pimple he looked down with mild surprise "You're well trained, aren't you, boy?" Lotho asked the hobbit kneeling between his legs; Samwise smudged his own handkerchief across his mouth, but didn't look up or respond.

Well, that just wouldn't do. "Come now, Sam," Lotho said, laying a hand on Sam's shoulder, feeling Sam's flinch, "I'm certain Frodo doesn't care for silence at a time like this."

That won a response; Samwise tossed his head up, the look in his brown eyes almost dauntingly insolent. "Mr. Frodo's never!" Sam cried, before recalling whom he spoke to and ducking his head again. "Mr. Frodo's never asked aught of me, sir," Sam muttered. "Not this. Never this."

"He doesn't know what he's missing," Lotho said, patting Sam's cheek; it was a compliment, but the boy just kept looking down. "I know what the matter with you is," Lotho continued, tugging Sam's shoulder. Sam obediently rose, and Lotho pressed his hips back towards the desk, ironically giving the lad the higher seat; but then, the desk could be cleaned much more easily than upholstery. "I'd be quite selfish to leave you aching, after all." He reached up to undo the lad's buttons.

A hand that quite matched Lotho's for strength clamped round his wrist. "Sir, no, please." Sam's eyes were wide, and he dented his lip with his teeth as he demurred. "Really, sir, you needn't----"

"Don't be a fool, Samwise." Lotho made his voice brisk; Sam's hand fell away and his eyes shut, a tear rolling from one corner. "You're young, it'll do you good." Indeed, the strong young stalk in his hand stiffened with just a few jerks; Sam clutched the edge of the desk and kept his eyes shut, till he peaked, burst into tears, pressed his hands to his face. It was rather girlish, but Lotho generously let him be; such a reaction to peaking happened even to lads sometimes, after all.

*|^|*

Sam didn't bother trying to close his eyes, not that the darkness looked much better. When his brother's snores filled the room, Sam rose and felt his way to where he'd tucked his pocket-handkerchief beneath his bed, then up the hall to the kitchen. His heart pounded, and he worried with each step that his Gaffer'd call out to him, that one of his sisters would be wakeful, but he found no one up, nothing but darkness till he came to the dim red glow of the kitchen fire.

He winced as he threw the handkerchief onto the coals; it was nearly new. But he couldn't've borne to wash it himself, considering its last use, and he couldn't've put it in the household laundry and borne Marigold's teasing on who his new kissing-friend might be. Let alone if his face gave him away.... how could he tell such a tale to his small sister? To any of his sisters?

Whom could he tell?

Sam eased the door open. It was chilly in the October evening, and he only in his nightshirt, but the breeze felt cleansing as his bath hadn't. Sam sat on the stoop and hugged his knees as he looked through the trees' fingertips at the stars.

He wished his Mam were alive still. Not that it didn't stand to reason he'd miss her, they all missed her, his Dad still looked blankly around as if not really seeing anything but her lack. But Sam wished now for her warm arms around him, her soft bosom beneath his cheek to catch his tears and hide his face, her kind ear to hear his tale of the deal and how heartsick he felt at it. This wasn't play, and it surely wasn't fondness, and the way Mr. Lotho's eyes glittered at Sam made him feel like a small caged thing, every time. It couldn't be right.

But Sam had agreed to it, hadn't he? And Mr. Lotho had called at Bag End again that week, and was surely smoothing matters between Mr. Bilbo and Mr. Frodo; the other day when Sam came in for luncheon they were even smiling at each other. Soon Mr. Frodo'd be secure again, and then surely Mr. Lotho would release Sam from the agreement?

Even so... the family could use the extra coin. Could Sam refuse it, when it meant fewer cares for his Dad, a pretty thing or three for his sisters? How could he explain it, turning down easy extra work?

The wind blew over Sam, as tears slid chill down his face and the stars glittered like shards of ice above him.

*|^|*

"Sam, come here."

Sam jumped, nearly dropping his rake, his heart thudding painfully. "Mr. Frodo, sir?" Swallowing against a flare of fear, Sam recalled Mr. Lotho's idle comment on how Mr. Frodo didn't know what he was missing, his hand sliding on Sam's cheek; the memory made Sam's skin crawl so that he shuddered.

But Mr. Frodo had called him, here and now. Getting a hold of himself, Sam went to his master, who tilted his head and looked at Sam keenly, as if to gaze to the bottom of his soul. Sam struggled, but he couldn't keep his eyes up to meet that gaze, couldn't now face the young master he'd loved nearly all his life, the friend he now almost resented...

Sam surprised himself by flinching, and realized that between his face and Frodo's startled one was Frodo's hand, on its way to touch him. "Sam," Frodo said, just a little huffily, "Sam, I won't hurt you. Come here and let me look at that lip. What happened to it?"

"Bit it, sir." Frodo's touch, featherlight on his bottom lip, nevertheless set Sam shaking all over; Frodo pulled his hand back and his eyes narrowed further, then widened. "Sam, you're trembling. Are you well?"

Not trusting his tongue, Sam merely nodded. Frodo turned his hand and laid it on Sam's shoulder, where the weight and warmth of it burned. "Are you certain, Sam? Are you ill? Has anyone hurt you?"

_Not strictly speaking, no_, Sam thought, shaking his head. Frodo stared at him a moment longer, then released him. "Let me get some salve," he said, and went in.

He was clearly meant to stay and wait, but Sam took the moment to make himself scarce.

Hot tears prickling in his eyes, Sam abandoned the rake and the raking; he fled for the oldest apple-tree, which had a comforting hollow he could still squeeze into if he folded himself small. What was wrong with him, that a look and a handful of words from Mr. Frodo could make Sam go all to pieces?

Sam shook his head at himself. He knew what ailed him.

Curled up in the tree, fists pounding on resilient wood, Sam let himself shake and weep. Nothing could be right that made him so heartsick, that made him run from his own Mr. Frodo. No matter what deal he'd made, what work he'd been given or what he was paid, it couldn't be right to do this with a hobbit he thought so little of, gentry or no. It was doubtless not his place to think so, but Sam did indeed think less yet of Mr. Lotho every Monday, and his anger felt almost like justification. It couldn't be right to be mixed up so, and Sam wanted nothing more but to end it and be himself again.

And yet…. As Sam dried his face with his sleeve, a terrible thought came to him. Perhaps he felt so awful because he was indeed stepping above his place, meddling even if indirectly between Mr. Frodo and Mr. Bilbo. Was that the problem?

No, Sam told himself, looking up into the apple's branches. Even getting above himself couldn't make him so sick all through with shame, make him feel so sure he was tangled in something he could never tell of. Though he had no guide, only his own scant wits, Sam was determined to get out of this awful agreement and be able to look Mr. Frodo in the face once more.

*|^|*

The next Monday, when Hal came to wake him Sam gave a weak little cough. He'd been rehearsing it for the last three days, and it sounded as frail and false as anything, but he still had to try. Just the thought of the day ahead made him feel queasy.

Hal looked at Sam as unsympathetically as only a sibling could. "Ye look ruddy enough," he said, shaking Sam to and fro. "And I'll not lose a day's pay, and ale and pocket-money besides. Get up, Sam, or I'll get Dad to say ye ain't ill."

Sam growled and sat up, wanting to strike Hal as he hadn't in years. He couldn't imagine how his sick dread didn't show in paleness of face; he was never a shirker; couldn't Hal let him be this one day? One look at his brother convinced Sam of the uselessness of pleading, so he groaned and swung his legs out of the bed.

"What's wrong wit'ye, Samwise?" Hal asked, shaking out his shirt. "'Tis easy work indeed, and it ain't like you t'be idle. Don't you care for sums?"

"I'd rather read," Sam muttered, clipping his braces. "But I'm up, so we'll go."

Sam plodded through the morning by putting one foot before the other and thinking of nothing at all, shaking off May when she tried to ask how he was. The day aided him by being cool and cloudy, neither sunshine nor rain; he might have been able to get through all of it in this blank state if it weren't for Mr. Frodo catching them on the path.

"Sam!" Mr. Frodo's cheerful voice, which usually made Sam's heart lift, now made him feel worse yet. He forced himself to turn, to smile, as Mr. Frodo ran down to them, waving a letter. "Good morning, Hal, Sam, I have news! Merry's coming to visit, he'll be here in a week! We'll have so much to do---" Frodo stopped short, giving Sam that keen look again, and Sam felt a quiver start deep within him. "Sam, are you well?"

Sam stood dumb as a post. "He's well enough, Mr. Frodo, sir," answered Hal, his tone clearly conveying his impatience with lazy younger brothers; his words broke off on a little gasp when Mr. Frodo gave him a fierce glittering glare before turning his gaze to Sam again. "Are you well, Sam," he asked again, and for a moment Sam thought his eyes might burst with tears, that he might throw himself to his knees before Mr. Frodo and beg pardon for meddling and pour out the whole awful mess, just to not have to bear it any longer.

But the moment passed, and Hal cleared his throat. "I'm fine, Mr. Frodo," Sam managed, voice near a whisper, then amazed himself by adding, "We'd best not be late." Hal snorted.

"You've been looking peaky half this month," Frodo replied, eyes wide with concern, but gave a little nod of dismissal. Sam turned, feeling those eyes still on him as he followed Hal down the path.

*|^|*

Lotho laughed. "Stop, Samwise? But we've hardly begun!" Sam's only answer was a fine tremor, his back pridefully stiff despite Lotho's hand on his shoulder. Lotho knew he ought to take the lad down a peg, for his own good and his masters', but he let another indulgent moment pass. The lad was intriguing in his pride.

What's more, he was just a delight when Lotho spun him round and stared him down, till the wide brown eyes sank beneath long-lashed lids to regard his toes. Lotho stood straighter as Sam wilted before him, noting that Sam didn't shake half so much as he'd used to when Lotho set both hands on his shoulders. "I think we might keep this up for awhile yet, don't you? Find out what else there is to get up to?"

Sam glanced up at that, alarm sparking in his eyes. The sight of it, the surge of power, made Lotho more lightheaded than ale ever could; even so, his father's snores, though still audible from down the hall, were fading, and his mother had raised him to prudence, so Lotho reluctantly released the lad. "You must be tired. I'll dismiss you early today, and you can go down to the _Barley Sheaf_ and hoist a pint with that brother of yours? You can make it up to me next week."

"Begging your pardon, sir," said Sam, still looking down, "but I shan't be here next week. Mr. Merry Brandybuck's coming to visit Bag End."

"One Brandybuck to another," Lotho sniffed. "I don't see why they'll need you to fetch and carry, but I suppose I must spare you. Your brother will miss his ale, I'm sure." Sam said nothing, but his shoulders were relaxing, so Lotho grasped them tighter, pressing his fingers in as he leaned closer to say, "but you _will_ be back the following week, will you not? I wouldn't want to have to tell your father you're shirking your duties, after all."

That tensed those shoulders up nicely.


	2. Pocket Money

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam would do anything for Frodo.

Title: Pocket Money  
Section: Two of Two.

 

Sam sat on the mudroom steps, smiling as he listened to the laughter indoors. Mr. Merry, true to his name, had Mr. Frodo and Mr. Bilbo laughing and smiling and at ease, and Sam blessed him for it. The kitchen was as clear as he could make it before dessert was done, so Sam took a moment's ease, listening to the wind in the trees and watching the Moon sail crescent through glowing clouds

The door behind Sam opened, and Mr. Merry emerged to sling an arm round Sam's shoulders as he sat beside him. "Sam, what are you doing out here?"

"Looking at the Moon, Mr. Merry," Sam replied, and Merry laughed. "You missed a most entertaining row," Merry said with incongruous cheer. "Bilbo and Frodo were going on together, and you'll never guess who about?"

Sam shrugged, trying to imagine an entertaining quarrel, but Mr. Merry seemed completely untroubled, so such a thing must be. "Why, Sam, they were discussing a fine young hobbit, and how well he's grown, and how he'll be a tween soon. Sam, they were talking about you!"

Sam gasped, and Merry laughed again and poked him. "Come now, Sam, don't look like that. You were the cause of harmony in the end, you know; they agreed that they're both quite fond of you."

Sam guiltily ducked his face, his cheeks hot and his eyes wet. Mr. Merry didn't know, none of them did. Beside him, he felt Merry's bounce fade to worried stillness. "Really, Sam, it's all good," Merry assured. "When I was little I didn't understand why Frodo went away, but now I watch them getting on together as only Bagginses can, and I think of what a foolish chit I was."

"They're getting on?" Sam could smile at that; indeed, he hardly could not have. "That's good to hear, Mr. Merry. They'd been at odds awhile."

"Oh, Frodo likely just had a fit of the moodies," Merry said with grand confidence, patting Sam on the back. "I'm sorry I wasn't here to watch! Bilbo likes a good fight every so often, he thinks it shows spirit."

From surprise to shame to shock, Sam was beginning to feel dizzy; Merry stared back at his openmouthed wonder. "He does? But Mr. Lotho said---"

"Sam, you _know_ Bilbo! And don't heed a thing Lotho Pimple says, he only opens his mouth to eat and lie."

That was nearly too much for Sam, who gripped the edge of the step, willing its bite into his palm to distract him enough to keep the tears back. "Sam?" Merry asked in confusion, and then it _was_ too much; Sam heard himself saying, as if from a great ways away, "Mr. Lotho, he hired me'n Hal to garden on Mondays, and he said to me, he said Mr. Bilbo's cross with Mr. Frodo and, and he'd help…."

"Lotho help Frodo? You _believed_ him?" Merry asked incredulously; Sam pressed his eyes shut as he nodded, knowing himself for a fool. "Did he make you work for no pay?"

Sam shook his head, realized that now he had to explain, and silently cursed himself. "No, he pays us right well, and pocket money too, but he told me, he's made me…."

Merry gasped. "He's made a warming-pan of you." His arm round Sam's shoulders suddenly tightened. "That foul…. Sam Gamgee, you're a sturdy hobbit."

Sam shook his head. "I'm a fool," he muttered, eyes still closed. Merry shook him slightly, squeezing him tighter. "You didn't know the lies that Pimple tells," Merry said, "and you're a good lad."

Merry fell silent, and Sam wished the friendly earth he worked with every day might do him the favor of rising up and swallowing him whole. Then Merry turned a little, his arm still round Sam's shoulders, and said, "There was a case down in Buckland, some months ago, where a wealthy farmer made three of his maids work in bed for him, till one lass caught a babe." When Sam looked up, he found Merry smiling lopsidedly. "I sometimes help my father with the cases. I've likely told you too much already, but…. You're not the only hobbit this has been done to. I thought it might help, to know that."

Sam nodded, unable to find words; Merry gave him another little shake. "You don't have to do this," he said. "It's wrong of anyone to ask you to bed for pay or favors or anything. From when I was small I've been taught this, I know we all have. You can quit, he can't hold you to it."

"And have him tell me Dad I'm shirking?" Sam was bleakly realizing that the trap still bound him even though it was built on lies. "My word against a gentlehobbit's?"

"We have to get you out of this, Sam," Merry insisted. "It's just wrong, and now I know why you've been pale and quiet all my visit. Tumbling with Lotho Pimple couldn't be good for anyone. Oh, Sam, I beg your pardon." That last was in reply to Sam's wince; Sam nodded helplessly, eyes pressed shut again, trying to know whether he was sorry he'd said aught, or relieved. Perhaps he was both.

"Frodo can tell him not to tell your father," Merry added, and now Sam flinched. "I _can't_\---"

"He's worried about you," said Merry, flat and merciless, and Sam was heartily sorry he'd ever opened his fool mouth. "He said you've been avoiding him, and you don't look well. You don't, Sam. You look miserable, and I'm not at all surprised."

"But I can't tell Mr. Frodo!" Sam insisted, hands clenched to keep them from flinging Merry's leaden arm off his shoulder. "How can I lay such on him?"

"How can you bear it yourself?" Merry snapped. "You hardly even speak to him anymore, Sam, and he's spent my whole visit worrying to me about you. This can't stay between the two of you forever."

Sam opened his mouth to object, and realized he couldn't, as Merry put both arms around him. "This can't go on," Merry insisted. "You're my friend, Sam, and I won't stand for my friends being so misused."

It wasn't as if Sam wanted to keep on with it, either. He nodded, and Merry grinned ear to ear and hugged him. "I'll get Frodo," Merry said, but Sam clutched his arm. "Mr. Merry, wait." Merry drew down his brows and opened his mouth, so Sam hastily continued, "I'll tell him, on my word, but, just, in my time."

Merry shut his mouth, and nodded, and smiled. "Merry-lad?" Bilbo called from inside, and Merry released Sam and got to his feet, not without a significant eyebrow waggle that made Sam smile.

When Merry had gone in Sam wrapped his arms round his knees and looked up at the Moon again, soaring in the sky. He wanted to run home and hide himself forever, but Mr. Merry was right, he had to tell Mr. Frodo. Soonest begun, soonest done.

So, after a deep breath of night air, Sam got up, and, setting one foot before the other, pushed himself steadily through the mudroom and into the kitchen. Frodo walked in at nearly the same moment, and when he saw Sam he smiled ear to ear. "Hullo, Sam."

"Hullo, Mr. Frodo," Sam said slowly, each word like a step. "D'ye have a moment?"

*|^|*

Lotho felt rather out of sorts. His mother had scolded him for spending so much money, and his father had asked nosy questions about the weekly gardeners. But finally his mother gave him his allowance and set off for another day of gossip and tea, and with a bottle of brandy and a couple of pages of accounts he lulled his father to sound snoring sleep.

Now he sat in an armchair, creasing the pages of a dull book of fanciful tales. The Gamgees were coming, in fact they were a bit late, and Lotho had plans for the lad, that he did. Perhaps today he'd see if he could get him entirely out of his clothes, dressed only in that tasty-looking blush.

Lotho wondered idly how long he could keep their little arrangement going, and what he could manage to get Samwise to do before it ended. Someone would eventually grow curious, after all, not that the elder Gamgee lad seemed to think on anything beyond his ale-money and half-days. Still, it would likely be most prudent of Lotho to end this on his own timetable, though, of course, not before squeezing all the pleasure he could out of the lad. He really ought to drop a hint or three around the Brandybuck, he thought. Nothing enough to be a clue, just enough to rattle; it should be great fun, indeed.

Lotho was thinking up phrases when a knock sounded at the door. He nearly called for the maid, before recalling that he'd sent her off so he might have privacy; with a little groan he hauled himself out of the chair and crossed the hall to open the door.

Samwise stood there, uncharacteristically smiling. Before him stood not his grinning older brother, but a frowning, glowering, almost dangerous-looking Frodo Baggins.

Lotho took a step back before he could catch himself, then reminded himself that this was _his_ home, and squared his shoulders. "Frodo! To what occasion do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"This is no social call." Frodo pushed past Lotho into the front hall. As he followed, and despite being more thickset, Sam flattened himself against the doorframe. Lotho was tempted to grab the lad, mostly to see Frodo's reaction; as his shock faded Lotho realized that Samwise must finally have confessed to Frodo, who, brash as any Brandybuck, had now marched right down to confront him. Perhaps, Lotho wondered with a dawning smirk, he could goad Frodo into a fight over the boy; he'd likely win, and even a bruise or three would be worth all the trouble that could stir up.

For the moment, he raised an eyebrow, and Frodo didn't keep him waiting long. "I have come here to tell you that Halfred and Samwise Gamgee no longer work for you, not even one day a week."

"Jealous of their service, are you?" Lotho replied, smirking at the pair of winces that won him. Frodo recovered first, growling a little; his shoulder tensed oddly, and Lotho's smirk widened to a grin as he saw that Frodo's wrist was wrapped in one of Sam's broad hands. "So I see."

But Frodo, instead of growing angrier yet, seemed to still, and he twisted his hand free of Sam's with a motion both quick and gentle. "You are not going to lay a finger on Sam, ever again," Frodo said, so calmly Lotho actually believed for a wavering moment that it was up to the Brandybuck.

Just one moment, of course. "Will you have him sue me before the Mayor?" he asked, leaning forward. Disappointingly, neither Frodo nor Sam gave before him, but Lotho was sure he'd see that they did. "Whose word will he take, a gentlehobbit's or a serving lad's? And I'm certain the old Gamgee would love to hear all the details of his son's little deal with me."

That won another wince from Samwise, but Frodo stood annoyingly straighter. "Where's your mother?" he asked, one corner of his mouth turning up. "I can hear your father's snores. I doubt either of them knows of the _deals_ you make with hobbits who can't say no, do they?"

Lotho gritted his teeth, thinking of how his mother would lay into him with words and umbrella, and how far she'd dock his allowance, for how long. Frodo had him there, damn him. "She wouldn't believe you, nor that little mud-grubber," he retorted, but he heard his voice catch on the words, and watched Frodo's mouth turn up at both corners.

"This ends now, Lotho," Frodo said. "Stay away from the Gamgees." With those words he turned and let himself out; Sam, following as ever, paused to give Lotho a cool look, and did not tug his forelock before shutting the door behind them.

"I was tired of him anyway," Lotho said to the closed door.

*|^|*

Sam sat on the mudroom steps, this time at sunset, watching the sky fading through blue and rose to purple. Frodo sat beside him, a careful little space between them occupied by a pipe and a small pouch. Bilbo had put them all out there, the pipe and the pouch and the two lads, saying he needed quiet to read a letter written in runes, but his eye had twinkled.

"You ain't told him, sir, have you?" Sam blurted, and wondered what had come over him, but Mr. Frodo somehow understood. "Bilbo? No, Sam, I didn't, I won't. I promise. But he does have sharp eyes, you know. He knows there was more to it than we told him."

"All the same, if you don't mind, Mr. Frodo...." Sam drew his knees up beneath his chin; he was filling out a bit much to fold up like that, but it felt comforting all the same. "I'd rather he not know that last bit. It'd be near as bad as..."

"As your father knowing? Or as my knowing?" Sam turned his head to find Frodo smiling at him. "I do wish you'd told me, Sam, when you were first propositioned. I wish you'd told me you were worried about me before then."

Sam dropped his burning face to his knees. "I know, sir, an' I'm sorry. You must think me a fool."

"No." Frodo's voice was both warm and emphatic. "No, I don't, Sam. I think you're my friend, who suffered something dreadful for my sake, and tried to bear it all alone as well." Sam felt a touch on his shoulder, and managed to suppress his startle into a shudder; Frodo pulled the hand back but still held it out, the question clear in his eyes.

Sam took a steadying breath, tamping down the little flare of fear, and reached to pick up the pipe and pouch as he slid over into the curve of Frodo's arm. Frodo sighed into Sam's hair, pulling him close against his side, and they sat there for a moment before Frodo asked, voice strangely small, "are you going to go to Tighfield, then?"

Sam blinked, and then understood. "I'd never leave you, Mr. Frodo, nor the lasses or me Dad. Uncle Andy has Ham, he don't need me, and how'd we explain it to Dad? 'Tis enough that Hal's gone to the Northfarthing, who never before cared to roam. Dad's grateful to the Masters Baggins for finding such a good place for him and all, but it's still a bit much."

"Better than he deserved," Frodo muttered."He should have kept better watch over you, Sam. And so should I." Frodo's long-fingered hand slid down to cup Sam's elbow. "And so I will."

Sam nodded, his cheek rubbing Frodo's velvet vest; he could hear Frodo's heartbeat beneath his ear. They sat silently for a little while, Frodo's arm warmly wrapped round Sam, as they watched the first stars appear in the violet sky, and Sam felt, slow but sure, contentment welling up within him.

Then Frodo murmured, so softly Sam almost didn't catch it, "You didn't need to go through this, Sam. Not for Bilbo, surely not for me."

Sam shook his head. "Mr. Frodo, I'd do anything for you, don't you know it?"

"That's what I'm afraid of," Frodo said, sighing a little; he kissed Sam's brow and rested their heads together, and the sunset deepened to starlit twilight.


End file.
